The Celtic tradition honours the ancestors and the time when the veil between worlds grows thin. Celebrated around October 31st, this time is called Samhain in Ireland and Scotland, and Calan Gaeaf in Wales. As the final harvest, the festival invites the laying down of what is finished before winter comes. Many of the beliefs and rituals of this season inform our present-day Hallowe’en celebrations.

Silvery fingers teased away the brittle old stories that clung to her, sweeping the dusty secrets that hung like cobwebs in forgotten corners.

Tattered remnants and debris lay scattered around her as she opened her eyes. She turned her face upwards, looking into the inky sky. “It’s time to let these go,” the luminous orb whispered.

The Moon smiled and beckoned her forward. She gathered up the pieces and as she stood in the bright light, her arms clutching the tangled web, she wept. She felt her arms loosening their grip on her burden.

Slowly she let go; tears streaming, body shivering, her arms dropping down to her side and then winding tightly around her middle. The pieces softly floated away, climbing into blackness.

She lives in a collection of stories currently being written. She Sketches are the glimpses of her world, shared along the way.

If these words felt like a space to pause and spend a quiet moment in the garden, you're welcome to stay.

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As she lifts her eyes to greet the garden, she notices the sun is so much lower in the sky, casting long shadows in its amber glow.

The breeze ruffles the leaves on the trees overhead, and she feels her face crease into a smile and her body soften and exhale.

There are still blooms, she sees as she turns to the bed beside her. Purple phlox standing tall behind the magenta echinacea, whose petals are now a faded pink pointing downwards. Weary. The vibrant orange of the Mexican marigolds signals the coming season of remembering ancestors. The warm hues of the petals mirror the red blush spreading across the Katsura leaves above.

The fiery heat of summer has ended, she thought. Soon the rain will come.

She inhales the steam rising from her cup and sighs before sipping the malty elixir. Just then, the breeze rises and teases loose a leaf from the tree above. She watches as it drifts down, enveloping her in the unmistakable scent of burnt sugar as it spirals to her feet, tip pointing towards her. The delicate heart-shaped Katsura leaves always capture her and she feels her face soften as her shoulders settle.

She leans forward to pick up the leaf, cradling it tenderly in her palm. “Go inward,” it whispers. “It’s time to listen.”

She lives in a collection of stories currently being written. She Sketches are glimpses of her world, shared along the way.

If these words felt like a space to pause and spend a quiet moment in the garden, you're welcome to stay.

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The sun catches the hollyhock petals, burnishing them to a delicate glow.

Softness and strength.

August tension surrounds me; holding the last breaths of summer while inviting the softening of autumn.

Dried poppy seed heads stand beside unfurling roses. Echinacea petals tip downwards alongside fresh new blooms.

A sense of change and loss hangs in the air and in me, mirroring the summer flowers — not quite ready to let go.

I sit wrapped in the warm breeze; held by the garden as we breathe together.

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Lughnasadh, also known as Lammas, is the ancient Celtic festival of the first harvest, celebrated around August 1st in the Northern Hemisphere.

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She sat in the golden field, the waves of grass dancing all around her. The amber light of this end-of-summer day reflected off the gilded stalks as they swayed in the breeze. The dry air held the heat of the day and the scent of the grass, enveloping her like a warm fragrant blanket.

Her mind drifted back. Back to her childhood and an open field tucked at the end of the Pilgrim’s Way. She remembered the crunch of dry grass beneath her feet, the sharp scratch as she reached her hands out beside her, the tickle of stalks against her legs as she passed. A cloudless sky, a deep, deep cerulean blue.

She sensed her connection to ancient times through this scene. The landscape shifting slightly but its cycles remaining the same over centuries. The land held the people, and the people held the land; neither complete without the other.

She reached out and grasped a stalk of grain. As she pulled it apart with her fingers, she felt the life of the land contained within it. A celebration within the palm of her hand.

She lives in a collection of stories currently being written. She Sketches are the glimpses of her world, shared along the way.

If this stirred something in you, come and wander with me ...

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I dreamed of green rolling hills and gardens filled with fragrant flowers that appeared to be scattered with wild abandon. I dreamed of rambling along ancient footpaths, imagining all those who had trodden there before me, feeling the echoes of their feet. I dreamed of having a deep connection to the land and my ancestors, sensing them holding me from the beyond.

“What might that be like?” I wondered one quiet June morning as I sat beneath the plum tree in the corner of my garden. The sun slowly lifted over the meadow behind me, and I found myself drifting into a reverie, caught in the liminal light waking the garden.

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I seemed to float, and when I landed, I saw myself in another garden. One that lived in my memory, and I smiled as the threads of remembering drifted into my awareness. I was 12 again; carefree and enjoying life. I was the version of me who knew how to play and how to be herself, and she was the version of me who was slowly losing herself in the expectations of others. She was the me I’ve been seeking, and who I’ve felt calling me through the layers of remembering.

There I was, my 12-year-old self walking among the roses with “Bop”, my paternal grandfather who tended his garden with love and old wisdom. We admired each rose as it revealed its colour and scent, and I listened intently as Bop told me the story of each one and explained how he cared for them. We watered them together, carefully soaking the soil, but not the leaves so they didn’t burn in the summer sun.

“The water drops are like magnifying glasses,” Bop said, “and they focus the sunlight and burn the leaves, so be sure to wet only the ground.”

“That’s interesting,” I thought; “that a water drop can burn a leaf.” I heeded his warning and slowly poured the water from the watering can I held inches above the soil so I could be precise.

We wandered over to the veggie patch, and Bop bent over to pick a cucumber. When we got to the runner beans towering over my head, he reached up and said, “We need to come back later with a bowl to get them — beans for lunch.” He grinned triumphantly.

I looked around the garden, marvelling at all the varieties of veggies he had grown.

My eye stopped as I saw a tiny blue flower, and I hurried over to see what it was. Bop followed me and as we bent over to look, he reached and pulled it out of the ground. “Bloody weed,” he said. “Oh,” I cried, “but it’s so pretty.”

“It might be pretty,” Bop said, “but Forget-me-nots are diabolical — if you don’t stop them, they’ll be everywhere and take all the food and water from the vegetables,” he explained as he tossed the petite bloom onto the compost. As we walked away, I cast a look back to the flower resting sadly on top of the compost. “Sorry little flower,” I whispered.

A change in the light pulled me out of my garden reverie, and as I looked up, I saw I was back beneath the plum tree and the wind had picked up. The leaves stirred overhead, dappling the sunlight on my face. I lifted my now lukewarm tea from beside me. “Time to move,” I said to the sleeping dog at my feet.

As I got up from my chair, I couldn’t resist another look at the rose bushes. A few steps across the grass, and I caught their scent as the thin morning sun warmed their petals. I felt the soft curve of a smile across my face as my eyes seemed to see back through time, meeting that girl who helped so many years ago.

I reached out to cup a blossom, bringing it closer to my face to breathe in its delicate perfume. As I leaned forward, I caught a flash of blue. Moving the rose blossoms aside, I looked down and there looking up at me was a tiny forget-me-not. It sat inches from the base of the rose, and I couldn’t believe I’d missed it in my previous garden visits. “Cheeky thing,” I whispered, “you can stay a bit longer, but I’m watching you.”

I took one last breath of the rose and walked across the now-warm grass. My eyes welled with tears and the memories washed over me, but still I smiled. “I remember,” I told myself, and whoever was listening from the beyond.

The morning light calls

Lift your face to the sun

Dance in the breeze like the fluttering petals

Breathe in the promise and the possibilities.

TRUST

She lives in a collection of stories currently being written. She Sketches are the glimpses of her world, shared along the way.

I’ve been here for some time, and I’d like to introduce myself again, now that I know why I’m here!

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I’m Tracey. I’m a retired Aromatherapist, a fibre artist, and an aspiring writer. I mostly write “from the inside out”. I write when something stirs in me — a thought, a wonder, or a quiet reminder that we are not alone.

My hope is that my words arrive lightly, and that this space invites us to soften, slow, and breathe in the possibilities of what it means to be in this season of ourselves.

I’ve spent most of my life fascinated by the natural world. I found a passion through the garden, and discovered friends in aromatic and medicinal plants. My deep relationship with the botanical world is reflected in my current work on my Soul Garden^® Plant Spirit Companion cards. You’ll find it woven through these pages too, especially in a collection of personal essays I call She Sketches (you can find the introduction here).

I believe that midlife is our time to explore what a life for ourselves might look like; outside of our roles, our responsibilities, and our obligations. Living for ourselves. Connecting to our heart, and listening to her whispers and the voice of the natural world around us.

This is the pause that allows us to sense the magic that surrounds us, and the wisdom held and offered by unexpected messengers — plants, trees, birds, animals, and carried in the wind.

It’s our time to open our hearts and see ourselves reflected in the magic and wild wisdom that breathes all around us.

I’m still learning.

I hope that you’ll join me on this path of self-discovery.

If you’d like to pull up a chair, pour yourself some tea, and visit with me, please do subscribe (and thank you to those who have)! And please share with others as well. As a writer, I truly appreciate knowing that my words might find their way to the right souls and offer a quiet breathing space for those who need it.

Now the morning light creeps in slowly, tinged with nostalgia and carrying wisps of melancholy. This transition has been harder than I imagined.

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We dream of the freedom of having our own time; of choosing what we want; of wandering through the day on our terms. And yet, when the time comes, it arrives wrapped in grief. Layers of memories, and whispers of remember when carried on the wind, dropping at our feet like flightless birds.

Another day for me.

I feel like I should be celebrating the triumph, and yet part of me feels empty and a bit lost. A day for me. What could that possibly look like?

My mind jumps to its usual stories. Tales of who I used to be and all I used to do. It’s a powerful narrative. But it’s caught in a loop of untruths, isn’t it? My heart knows better, I suspect. I sense there’s much more out there. But where?

As I sit cradling my morning tea, a rustling in the Katsura tree outside my window catches my attention. I watch the leaves shimmy and the branches twitch until a goldfinch emerges from the green depths.

Remember.

The word drifts into my consciousness.

Remember who you are.

I watch the Goldfinch dance through the leaves, and suddenly he stops. Sensing something, he turns to the window and seems to be looking at me. He tilts his head and nods before turning back into the tree and disappearing from sight.

Remember who I am.

As the words settle into my heart and mind, I wonder if that’s the secret to this time.

What if this season of me is about remembering — not only who I used to be as a mother, but before that; me as myself, before the roles and the rules. And even before that; remembering all the women who came before me, and whose wisdom flows through me.

Remember.

It seems a better idea than wallowing and feeling stuck in what used to be.

I finish my tea and cast one last look outside. The goldfinch is still in the tree. Making his way to the end of a branch, he pauses and raises his head, his voice piercing the morning air with glorious song. He lifts his wings and takes flight. I feel a smile crease my face as I rise from the chair. My day is calling. I have a life to create.

You may know her already.

She is the woman sitting quietly at the edge of the garden, freckled hands cradling a warm cup, watching the light dance through the leaves. She is the one who pauses on the path for no reason she can say, sensing that something is asking to be noticed.

She has no name —because She is not one woman; She is every woman who has ever stood at a threshold, waiting, watching, and wondering if she dared to step through.

She lives alongside the natural world. The garden is her sanctuary, and the plants and creatures within, her companions. The sparrow on the fence post is her familiar; tilting his head, considering, and then simply opening his wings and trusting the air.

She is learning to do the same.

She stands somewhere on the way to becoming. Not lost, though she has been. Not yet arrived, though she may be closer than she knows. She is on the path, her bare feet on cool grass, her hand hovering over the gilded latch of a gate she has walked past so many times without opening.

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These sketches are glimpses of her world. Not the finished paintings; those are being tended carefully, like seedlings too fragile to handle and not yet ready for the light. These are the morning impressions; the quick strokes. She is noticing. And in the noticing, something in her softens.

If you have ever felt the weight of a life lived mostly for others and wondered what it might feel like to live one for yourself, She is writing for you.

Pull up a chair. Wrap your hands around something warm.

She has been waiting for you.


She lives in a collection of stories currently being written. She Sketches are the glimpses shared along the way.

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Sometimes a project lands because it’s time for it to make its way into the world. Sometimes it’s unexpected, and it’s only through the process of doing the work that we come to know how vital it is.

This is one of those.

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I completed a series of AI-assisted images that depict my cherished plant spirits. These are plants with whom I have cultivated a relationship over many years of personal and professional practice.

These plants have accompanied me along my own personal journey; they have appeared in aromatherapy blends for myself and others; they have graced my garden; and now are held within the Spirit Dolls I make.

It has been a beautiful evolution, and one that has profound meaning for me. This is a piece of the journey that I never expected, and yet I know it is time for these benevolent helpers to be seen.

These cards introduce thirteen plants and their corresponding plant spirits in all their glory. It was an incredible experience to see them appear in front of me through my words describing how I know them. Technology meeting magic.

Having these treasured companions in visual form in my hands fulfills a dream that I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

Timing is everything.

I wonder how many of us are holding unknown dreams? Ideas and visions breathing quietly beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment, the courage, and the right unexpected door to open.

These cards reminded me that some things are not planned so much as recognised; the dream was always there, patient as a garden, waiting to be tended.

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What if it’s actually the opposite?
What if we’re not meant to have things together, but rather to take it all apart?

It wasn’t until I retired my aromatherapy practice last spring, months before my 60th birthday, that it hit me.

Perhaps this is the time to release the old structures, systems, and behaviours that helped me navigate a world where I struggled to fit in.

I’m beginning to see the extent of the disservice I’ve done to myself. All the masks, the trying on of countless identities to push myself into ill-fitting boxes so that I appeared acceptable.

We do this though, don’t we? We get so busy caring for others and doing all that we’ve come to believe we have to that we forget about ourselves.

Until we don’t.
Until something inside us shifts and the fog lifts.
Until we give ourselves permission to remember what it might be like to be … ourselves.

I’ve said that I’ve re-invented myself many times, but often it was another costume. Sometimes through the changing, I surfaced with a piece of myself that I hadn’t known I’d lost. A gem of who I’d always been, tucked into the pocket of this new dress.

I’m sensing that this current reinvention is the most important of all.

The returning to myself.

The gifts of this birthday keep coming. Perhaps the greatest has been to see my path with clearer eyes, and to know that it’s time to dig into my courage in order to set myself free.

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I imagine most of us can trace back to our turning points, looking back to see that threshold we were brave enough to step through, crossing into the unknown.

Into the beyond.

Not knowing where the untrodden path led, but knowing we had no alternative but to step through and walk it, altering the arc of our existence.

I remember years of inner work circling to each pivotal point. I thought I’d worked through it all, only to find myself on the next level of that spiral staircase of healing and self-discovery.

Now I recognize that each time I pause, I see fresh opportunities for growth as an unmarked trail appears before me.

It’s not done yet.

Perhaps it’s never done.

Casting our eyes back, we can see how far we’ve come.

We can recognize those moments when the mask came off, and we found ourselves one layer closer to our truth. In the moment we can’t always see it, but glancing back we can — noticing the shed costumes left along the path.

We remember, and in that we can acknowledge the old versions of ourselves that we outgrew and cast off along our way, and thank them for getting us to this point.

I’m pulled from my reverie and see that my dog has got up from her cushion beside me and is standing at the top of the stairs, gazing down into the darkness. In her eyes I sense her thoughts:
What’s there?
What lies beyond?

My breath catches as I feel a spark of recognition. Another threshold beckons.

What lies beyond?

I remember that I’ve done this before. We all have.
I’ve wrestled with fear and crossed into uncertainty before.
I remember how the stepping through expanded my world enough for me to breathe and settle a little deeper into my own becoming.

Perhaps this time I will find the magic of myself waiting.

This year I found it particularly overwhelming, and so I considered how I’d like to approach the turning of the year a bit differently. What arose is a shift in perspective… and my version of “How to do January”. What follows are my musings as a “note to self”, based on my personal experiences and inner work. I’m sharing them here because I wonder if I’m not the only “rebel” who would like to try beginning the year a bit more softly.

January opens the door quietly, carrying a soft sense of promise and possibility. The light is slowly returning, yet the Earth remains at rest. While the outer world may push to jump into the new year, Nature invites us inward to move gently, to listen, and to begin with tenderness; allowing the soft unfolding.

As I stood this morning cooking another batch of sugar water for our wintering hummingbirds, I thought about how this captures the spirit of January. These hummingbirds now have a singular purpose: to survive. They are sustaining themselves with minimal attention on anything other than the basic needs of food and shelter.

Most of Nature has not begun to stir outwardly, but is gathering strength in less visible ways. January’s inward-turning energy makes it an ideal time for building self-awareness through inner reflection and listening to our heart’s whispers. I’ve discovered that dark winter mornings are a favourite time for my journal practice as my heart seems surprisingly clear!

These quiet days of winter may help bring clarity, and may also stir the emotions; perhaps creating heightened sensitivity. Rather than looking away from these feelings, January invites us to turn towards them with curiosity and compassion, allowing our emotions to inform us.

I’m reminded that January intentions are like seeds planted in the dark soil, taking root in the fertile stillness and growing stronger. Even though nothing may be visible now, I can trust the process as I imagine a seed of intention gathering what it needs to root deeply.

There are a number of ways that we can work with January’s energy to support personal growth and healing. Here are a few ideas that align with this perspective and that feel helpful to me:

Prioritize nervous system safety

January is not a time to push, but rather to invite softness and work with practices that signal safety to the body. Think of what nourishes: warmth, regular sleep, gentle movement, breath work, quiet time, and simple routines. Growth and healing happen when the body feels calm and supported.

Turn inward with curiosity

Use the quiet January days for reflection rather than the pressure of decision-making. Journalling, meditation, and quiet contemplation are all supportive practices. Resist the urge to figure things out, and focus more on being curious and letting insights bubble up naturally. Consider this month one of listening rather than planning.

Practice self-compassion

Be gentle this month as emotions may feel closer to the surface. Meet whatever arises with kindness and compassion. Rather than looking at how to fix it, consider what the emotion might be asking or wanting.

Consider foundational intentions

Set intentions quietly and slowly. Focussing on how we want to be and feel, can guide us to supportive daily practices. It may help to consider intentions we set now as being like seeds and think about how we can help them to develop strong and deep roots. Foundational elements like safety, nourishment, and managing energy can help to create sustainable practices.

Simplify and manage resources

Just as we see in nature, January invites us to do less. Reducing external commitments where possible can help us to create more space for awareness, inner growth, and healing. Focussing our precious resources inward helps to set a solid foundation and “deepen our own roots” for the year ahead.

Trust the invisible

It’s important to remember that much of what happens in January is unseen. Just like the seeds lying dormant in the Earth, important gathering and integration is happening for us, too. Trust that gentle presence, reflection, and rest are shaping what is to come.

January reminds us that growth and healing don’t require urgency. By honouring these quiet days with presence and compassion, we give our inner world the time and space to realign, rejuvenate, and prepare for the activity of the seasons ahead.

May you find peace in the gifts of January.

May you tend your heart with compassion.

May these quiet days guide you towards a year of fulfillment.

There is so much life beyond what we can see with our eyes. How is it possible that it is when we close our physical eyes that we can truly see?

We may think that it’s our brain that drives us through life, but the truth is that it is our heart. I believe that our heart is the centre of our soul, our consciousness, and our sense of who we really are. Our heart is it all.

The world makes it easy for us to get swept up and spend much of our life caught in the illusion that we have to be smart, and work hard, and do big things. This may be true for many of us, and perhaps especially when we are younger and learning to navigate the world.

However, as we grow older, we begin to see and sense more clearly. As we age, we learn that we can no longer ignore our heart. Our heart finds ways to make itself known— sometimes gently, and sometimes with a bang. Our heart calls us.

Midlife is the time to hear this call, if we’ve missed it until now.

Our invitation at midlife is to find our way back to our heart and to the truths nestled within.

This may sound like work; however, it may look like rest or play!

By metaphorically closing our external eyes and getting quiet enough to hear the soft whispers, we can open our heart’s metaphysical eyes and see into the shadows to find what truly matters.

It is here that we will know the real secret: what truly matters is who we are. Not what we do. Not what we have in the outside world. What matters is the connection that we have with ourselves and our heart.

It’s taken me 6 decades, and a heart attack, to learn that the journey of becoming whole is to move into the outside world and then somehow find our way back. Back to our heart, our truth, our trust; back home to our Self.

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If you’d like to explore this theme for yourself, I offer a journalling invitation below. I like to create a quiet and sacred atmosphere for work like this, and consider it a personal ritual. I invite you to do the same, if that feels right for you.

Heart Wisdom Reflection: A Gentle Invitation

Reconnecting with inner wisdom and rediscovering what truly matters.

Reflection: Inner wisdom and knowing are often quietly revealed.

• What does “seeing clearly” mean to me at this stage of my life?

• How might I cultivate trust in my inner wisdom? What small shift in my days might help me?

Reflection: Like a quiet compass, our heart guides us towards our true selves.

• What does my heart want me to know today?

• How do I notice myself ignoring my heart’s voice? What helps me to honour its whispers?

• If I asked my heart to rewrite one belief I hold about myself, what might it say?

Reflection: Midlife is not an ending, but a homecoming and return to our essence.

• In what ways am I being invited to reconnect with my true self now?

• What feels deeply meaningful to me at this stage of my life that didn’t matter much before?

• What might a life guided by my inner wisdom and self-awareness, rather than external accomplishments, look like for me?

Closing Reflection:
Take a few deep breaths, soften your jaw and shoulders, and consider:

• What insights surprised me?

• What is one gentle intention I want to carry with me from this inner reflection?

May this reflection help you to weave a deeper connection with yourself.

These “dog days of summer” have been a bit much for me. Just as the heat shimmer blurs the outer landscape, I’ve felt that haziness within me. It’s been as if the sun is burning through some inner layers of distortion, and the discomfort of this inner disruption combined with the unseasonable heat had me lazing in the air-conditioning, unable to move in any meaningful direction.

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But the gems of clarity this week are unmistakable. The sunrise pause this morning allowed me to see the gifts in the actions of others and how they’ve brought me back to myself. My husband bringing me flowers before he leaves on a trip; a trio of vibrant sunflowers to keep me company while he’s away. My friend sharing her company, kindness, and knowledge, spending a day teaching me how to knit. My son checking in to make sure that I was eating properly, knowing that cooking for myself is not a priority for me. It’s not lost on me that I have three sunflowers standing proudly in a vase on the table, and three moments standing out in my heart and mind.

It was as though these acts of genuine care and kindness gave me the pause I needed to slow down and get out of the way so that I could allow myself to see that my own nature was being reflected back to me.

I’m reminded of the concept of how our interaction with others can serve as mirrors of our own psyche. This is usually in the context of shadow work and those parts of ourselves that we don’t want to see; however, this reflection could also be true of our gifts, couldn’t it?

Of course, this got my mind wandering down the path of why we can be so hard on ourselves and hold ourselves to such high standards, when others can see us so easily— and usually in a much kinder light than the one we shine on ourselves! Perhaps a musing for another day.

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But who would have thought that it would be the fading summer’s golden light that would illuminate this for me?

For me, the last days of August are usually filled with nostalgia, and the wistful memories can bring up a sense of sadness and loss, but this year I was given something special. Something deeper. I was reminded that it’s in the actions of others mirroring back to us that we can know how we’re truly seen.

What a beautiful and reassuring perspective as I step into a new season, not only of the Earth, but also of my own becoming.

In this modern world of instant gratification, of excess, and of striving, the longing for soft and slow is easy to understand!

August seems to be a month when these kinds of ideas come to visit. As I sit in the garden surrounded by flowers and bees and birdsong, I notice the golden light of late summer catching the wings of a bee as he lands on a pollen-filled hollyhock. As the flowers sway in the breeze, the bee dances with gilded wings as he collects his treasure, covering himself with the yellow powder in the process.

Summer exhales and as the gentle breeze swirls around me and I watch the play of the bee, I sense a whisper of an invitation.

What if I exhaled the busy-ness and tension and settled into August like the bee? Dancing in gilded softness, staying in one place until I had what I needed and then floating on metaphorical golden wings to dance with the next flower.

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In a world that can feel too much, this image is tempting. When things feel heavy and the pressure builds, there is an inner dis-harmony that’s created. I’ve learned that if we don’t pause, we burst—perhaps metaphorically, but a physical manifestation of the dis-harmony is a possibility too.

My thoughts are interrupted by the nearby wind chimes as they’re tickled by a puff of wind. I’m reminded of how the element of air holds clarity of vision and voice, and how wind can shake things up and bring about change.

I’ve never been a fan of change. Anxiety created a need to feel safe and so control has been my lifelong companion. Change has felt like that disruptive house guest who we dread coming to visit and can’t wait to leave. And yet, the gentle tinkle of the wind chimes invites a new perspective. One of breaking up stagnant energy; clearing the air and making space for something new. A subtle shift into softness as the breeze subsides and the air calms.

My curiosity is piqued. I sense my inner rebel is intrigued: after all, living softly and slowly feels like an act of rebellion in this world of striving and bigger and more.

Could a little less be the simple antidote? Less pushing. Less pressure. Less tension. What might this leave space for?

We’ve heard that every path begins with a single step, and so it stands to reason that we can begin anywhere. Just like the wind suddenly picks up and shifts its course, we can adjust and re-align to taking that first step onto the path of softness.

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I’m learning that there’s nothing wrong with a heart that seeks gentle simplicity and slowing down, and that honouring our longings is vital to our well-being. Now my heart is asking me to step forward and cross the line of comfort and control that I’ve set for myself. It’s a whispered invitation for courage, and for presence.

It seems that I’m not alone in this: I recently saw a post on Instagram that sparked a deep desire and illuminated something that had been hiding:

Martina wrote this about her way of working with wool, but don’t you think this holds some magic and wisdom for all of life?

Perhaps, as a single moment to pause and breathe? A single “no” to allow space to tend to our hearts? A single act of softness. Maybe this is all it takes.

As August exhales, I close my eyes and listen to the wind whispering. Maybe if I’m quiet enough I will hear the song of my heart lifting into the golden sunlight. There is a gift waiting in the long shadows and warm berry-scented breezes of late summer, and when we’re ready, I believe it will find us.

I’ll be sitting beside the hollyhocks, with the bees.

Bienvenue au Canada

How often I’ve seen these words and taken them a bit for granted. Sure, they brought a sigh of relief, but that was often because it marked the end of a very long work day. Looking back, I can still feel that relief, and also the twinge of the deeper meaning—a recognition of that feeling of being home and what that represents.

Like most human experiences, being Canadian means something different to each of us. Being the Canadian-born eldest child of immigrants perhaps crystallized something more in my blood. My parents made a conscious choice to leave the familiarity of their English culture and family to make a life for themselves and their children, and my birth solidified their dream.

As a young woman, I had the opportunity to travel and work across Canada, and outside our borders. As a flight attendant for a national airline, I was 22 the first time as a crew member I stepped onto foreign soil from a plane with “Canadian” emblazoned on the fuselage. I remember feeling myself stand tall as I walked through a foreign airport for the first time with my crew, our bags proudly displaying the maple leaf for all to see. Travelling abroad made me truly appreciate all that I had as a Canadian.

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My stops in places were often short; however, the glimpses of life outside what I’d grown up with awakened a sense of awe in the vast beauty and diversity of our people and our land, and the thread of connectedness woven throughout.

Growing up on the West Coast, I was used to seeing the ocean, but I can still remember the first time I stood in St. John’s and looked out over the Narrows and was struck by the magnificence before me. The rugged beauty of the rocks that seemed to part just enough to allow ships to enter the harbour and give a glimpse of the sea beyond took my breath away. The harbour itself was a memorable greyish blue-green, and the brightly coloured buildings along the neighbouring streets contrasted to create an indelible scene.

I remember a training flight from Vancouver to Edmonton where I was called into the cockpit and given the jump seat so that I could see the Northern Lights from the flight deck as we landed. I can feel the tears well up as I think about that now— I wonder if those pilots knew that their small gesture would be such a strong memory nearly 40 years later.

Flying into Saskatoon gave me an appreciation for the prairies that I otherwise wouldn’t have experienced as a “coaster”. I marvelled at how we could see forever as the horizon stretched over the golden landscape as it seemed to drop off the Earth.

Most of all I remember the people. The kindness and unassuming strength of spirit that I found wherever I went, as though woven through the hearts of all who call Canada home. The quiet pride of showing a visitor what made their corner of our country so special, and seeing this pride in their eyes as they looked out over their familiar landscape. The intensity of their love of their way of life and their place echoed through their stories, and made my experiences that much more meaningful and memorable.

Yes, our country and her people are incredibly beautiful. Is Canada perfect? Not at all. Like every nation we have black marks in our history, and looking back through our modern eyes we are appalled at the exploits of our past. And we know that awareness is the first stepping stone to doing better, and it seems we are on that path.

The world today is unsettled and a bit frightening, and I’ve never felt more proud to be Canadian. Isn’t it funny how a changing world and the actions of a person in power can ignite a fire in the hearts of a nation? Never have I witnessed such vocal pride in our country and our values. Never have I seen our usually polite citizens be so unapologetic in standing up to a perceived threat to our very existence. Never before have I seen what Canada stands for reflected across the diverse faces of our people.

So this Canada Day, I’m reminiscing about what I’ve seen and experienced in my travels across my country. I’m feeling prouder than ever to be Canadian, and to have the privilege of witnessing history in the making as we, as a country, stand up for ourselves like never before.

I am Canadian. Je suis canadienne. And today, this is something to be very, very proud of.

“The Bard used the power of the word to lead us to the Mystery”
~Philip Carr-Gomm

There’s a special kind of magic in seeing ourselves recognize that it’s time to let something go. Even months ago I would have fought fiercely to hold onto a thing so precious and so intrinsic to who I am, and yet now I witness myself opening my fingers and letting it drift away, like dandelion seeds in the wind.

This path of mid-life seems to bring new surprises at every turn! I never imagined that this new season of my life would so quickly shift into an ending of my Aromatherapy practice. I’ll admit that I resisted the idea for months— until the deep knowing settled and I sensed the peace that the decision brought.

I care deeply about the value and power of Aromatherapy as a healing modality. In many ways I see it as more powerful than I ever have. However what I’ve realized is that the ecological state of aromatic plants, and the climate of natural healing modalities and products in Canada is so different than when I began, that it no longer aligns with what I need to honour for myself.

This is one of those times where one might say “I’m too old for this”. In this case, it’s absolutely not that I can’t do it.

The thing is, we are not our work. Therapy helped me unearth and dig into the concept that I am not what I do and that I exist outside of my work. It’s this understanding that crystallized the knowing that it was time to focus on what I was feeling a strong pull to prioritize—myself and my family.

What an empowering change! Acknowledging that a season had come to an end meant I could give myself permission to no longer stay with something because it’s what I’ve known. I’m now being brave and walking that fine line of uncertainty— balanced between trepidation and excitement— as I wait for what’s next.

Which brings me back to the opening quote. It was through writing, and especially my journalling practice, that a sense of a new path opened in front of me—as if by magic!

As I wrote, the words poured onto the page in what seemed an emotional puddle of nonsense. And then I began to see a pattern as words repeated and flowed into meaning. My words showed me that I have a soul-longing for the space of simple and slow; and now is the season for me to honour this longing.

As I see the beginning of this path before me it looks pretty barren! It feels a bit scary to step into such emptiness, and yet I can sense the space to explore new ideas; to deepen existing hobbies and maybe even learn some new ones. There’s room to prioritize my heart’s call for calm and quiet, and my desire to focus on myself and my family. There’s capacity for welcoming more of what brings me joy!

Maybe this is what the idea of mid-life caring is all about—caring enough about ourself to listen to our intuition and take a stand for our needs. Caring enough to answer this call of our innate wisdom and trust the power of our words to lead us into the mystery. Caring enough to not only hear our heart’s voice, but to follow her guidance and create a new season of life built upon her softly-whispered longings.

Of course as it often does, it became clearer overnight. While I’d been thinking about the idea of waiting, it is actually more about it being time now— I’ve wait-ed long enough!

I’m at that time of life where it becomes necessary to truly reflect, deeply, on what kind of life I have now and how it's working for me. Is it nourishing? Does it bring me joy? What do I really need and want? Do I wake up feeling like I have a song in my heart that’s calling to be heard? Hmmm…

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I’ll be 60 this year. I’m not sure why this feels so relevant and important for me to acknowledge, after all it’s just a number, right? And yet I’m sensing there are gems buried inside my decades that are asking to be revealed, and it seems the only way to unearth them is to focus on me and my needs.

Well, we know how challenging that can be, don’t we? We are so often expected to be things for other people, and over time our shapeshifting ways of pleasing others results in us not knowing who we really are—and feeling selfish spending any time with or for ourselves. And so here I stand at this threshold, digging into my courage and wondering—who am I really? If I strip away the roles and expectations (real or imagined), who is the me in my heart?

What a powerful revelation to see this gap of awareness. I’m no stranger to inner work, in fact the past year has been one of shedding and digging in the shadows deeper than at any other time in my life. Yet all of this work has still left me with this question. Perhaps I’m not alone in this? Perhaps this is exactly what it is to be a woman at midlife?

My journalling lately has been lengthy and revealing. Thinking back only a few weeks, I now giggle as I remember writing “the season of me” and feeling terrified because I didn’t know what that meant. Isn't it an interesting part of the journey when we can look back and remember our reaction to something, and then witness a new perspective as we look at it with present-day eyes. That’s what I’m seeing now. An acceptance and a willingness to consider where I’ve been and how that informs where I want to go and who I want to be.

Part of this process of getting to know my present Self is to remember who I once was. The happy and unhappy bits, and those parts where I felt strong and confident and vibrant, too. What was it about those times that created the sense of me being content and confident in myself? What did that version of me know that I may have forgotten? Of course my circumstances are different now, and the world is very different, however those parts of me are still there waiting for me to find them again.

Much of this inner exploration is through words and writing, which brought another giggle as I remembered. I’ve always been a “word girl”. Growing up I was fascinated by accents and language and the nuances of words. So much so that when it came time to consider university, Mum suggested I do something language-based. Of course the 17 year-old-rebel-me knew better, and she took that advice and enrolled in a Science program. Mum did have the last laugh however, as after 2 1/2 years I realized that science and the required math were not for me…and I ended up with a degree in Linguistics. I’m pretty proud of that rebellious 17 year-old testing her independence; and I’m grateful for not only that experience but also being able to look back on it now and chuckle as I think about how that particular chapter unfolded.

Recollections like this allow glimpses into aspects of myself that I might have forgotten through life’s twists and turns. Remembering, sitting with what comes up, and considering how these pieces might fit together for present-day me, feel like they are all part of the process. There’s much more to explore, and I’m curious about the role that words and writing will play in me finding my courage and my voice.

What I do know is that gently shifting my perspective has allowed me to consider this threshold as a beginning rather than a winding down. The waiting is over, and I’m sensing an opportunity to re-imagine myself and create this next chapter of my life.

I’m playing with the idea that this season of me is more of a grand adventure than a terrifying ordeal. It could be an opportunity to open doors which I didn’t know existed or thought had disappeared. Maybe behind one of those doors I can rediscover the me I thought I’d lost (maybe even that brave 17 year-old rebel!).

This season of being can be the space I need to spend time exploring what I love to do now; and a time to create my life on my terms. It sounds a lot, and balancing with family and other obligations makes it more so. Each of us has our unique circumstances and we do the best that we can for ourselves, right? I’m grateful to have the support of family that allows me the space to do this, and I recognize how fortunate I am.

What is this time at the threshold like? I’m still learning and don’t really know yet! Is it hard work? Like every quest we undertake, I’m guessing that it can be. Is it worth it? Well, I’ll let you know…but I’m thinking that it absolutely is not only worth it, but vital!

Yet, this day marked Imbolc and the first signs of Spring! The frosty peace and stillness before me said that even though the day may mark the first stirrings of Spring, Winter still holds us in her embrace.

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Imbolc is the midpoint between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, and is traditionally celebrated on February 1st or 2nd, or by an astrological point. Personally, I like to align with the changes I see in nature and the shifts I feel within myself— as though awakening from a Winter slumber— and I feel that Imbolc is less a defined date and more a period of liminal time that celebrates the signs of new life beginning to emerge.

What a striking contradiction I saw as I looked around the garden! The snow blanketed the landscape in stillness, yet beneath its surface, the earth was quietly preparing for the growth of Spring.

Here Nature was mirroring the transitions in our lives and the duality we’re often asked to hold. Modern culture urges us to launch into the new year with resolutions and goals, yet the depth and darkness of Winter encourage us to rest, reflect, and gather our resources for the coming seasons. The wisdom of Winter invites us to pause and to then emerge and move forward gently with intention, dismissing any sense of urgency.

This year I’ve felt Winter’s pull to stillness more strongly, and in journalling around this over the past weeks, the metaphor of the seed has been very present. Many times I’ve reminded myself that growth begins in the darkness. Seeds lie dormant beneath frozen soil, holding within them all that they need to flourish. They wait for their right time to break through the surface and begin their season of growth and blossoming.

These stirrings of life are often unseen, lying hidden beneath the surface. Like these seeds, our own power and potential is within us, waiting to shoot forth and take root when conditions are right. And just like these seeds, our own internal transformations and profound shifts take root long before they are visible or even conscious.

This time of Imbolc is a sacred liminal time of preparation. Now we are invited to clear the metaphorical debris of Winter to make space to consider the dreams that are quietly forming beneath the surface. We are invited to get quiet so we can hear the whispers of change that are asking for attention. And we are invited to plant our seeds of intention and inspiration for the growing seasons.

Imbolc is a time that our ancients celebrated the rekindling of the flame of hope that the light and warmth of the sun is returning. To me, the delicacy of hope was reflected in the snowy landscape.

I’ve been thinking about the concept of hope a lot lately after realizing that it’s something I struggle with. A few weeks ago in a study group we discussed the idea of hope and how we see it for ourselves personally. I was interested to see that while I knew I had a bit of a tricky relationship with hope, I’d never defined it for myself.

I’ve realized that for me hope had been entangled with expectation, which ultimately brought disappointment if the desired outcome didn’t unfold. What I’ve come to see is that hope is like a path lined with the light of possibilities. What if instead of tying hope to a particular result, I could experience it as being open to possibility? I’ll admit that this is a work in progress!

While Imbolc is a time to celebrate rekindling the spark of hope, optimism and inspiration, I recognize that in a world that can feel heavy, connecting to hope can be challenging. I believe this is when turning to Nature can help, as she reminds me that even in the depths of winter, new life is unfolding—Nature embodies the hope of what is yet to come.

My own journey of late has reminded me that in addition to connecting to Nature, we each have a set of tools that can bring us joy and comfort, and help to spark our light of hope. While journalling, art, aromatherapy, garden time, and gentle movement are foundations for me, other creative practices are equally nourishing. This in-between- seasons time invites me to create, as though each twist of fibre, each word, or each quiet breath with an aromatic ally is my way of honouring the season’s call for stillness and introspection— and even more importantly, of honouring myself by making space to listen to my heart’s whispers.

Each of us has our own unique set of tools, and whether your creativity and self-expression come through writing, art, cooking, music, dance, building, gardening, time outdoors, or…, now is the time to lean into these practices.

But isn’t it interesting how easy it can be to forget our tools when we’re “in it”. How is it that a Professional Aromatherapist can forget the power of scent for herself?!

I’m often asked about aromatherapy and essential oils for Winter support—not just for immune protection, but also for emotional well-being. This time of year can feel heavy, especially under our cement-grey West Coast skies, and so I often suggest the sunny citrus essential oils. I call them sunny because these fruits grow in warm climates and absorb all the vitality of the sun’s energy into their skin, which is where we extract their essential oils. These aromatics bring a sense of warmth and carry a natural brightness that can lift the spirit.

My absolute favourite is Bergamot (Citrus bergamia), which I often call “joy in a bottle”. Bergamot has a strong affinity to hope, and is a beautiful harmonizer that can lighten our hearts and bring a sense of positivity and calm.

Orange essential oil (Citrus sinensis) is another wonderful choice—it’s nearly impossible not to smile when you smell it! Most of us have a memory associated with orange and if it’s a pleasant one, all the more reason to open that bottle and breathe.

In times of anxiety, Lavender (Lavandula angustifolia) and Neroli (Citrus aurantium) are both clinically proven* to ease stress and nervous tension, calming the mind and lifting the spirit.

For those drawn to deeper work, Clary Sage (Salvia sclarea) is a powerful ally that supports relaxation and an increased sense of well-being, and enhances intuition and connection to divine feminine energies.

As always, when using essential oils, it’s important to know that they’re safe for you. If you’re unsure, consult a professional aromatherapist (you’re always welcome to reach out to me). Inhalation is my favourite way to work with essential oils, and this is especially true for citrus oils which can be phototoxic if applied to skin before sun exposure.

Working with aromatics is a beautiful way to care for ourselves on all levels of our being. Scent can provide an anchor —to Nature, and to our inner world and highest Self, and this helps us remember that even in the darkness of winter, light is returning.

Standing in the snow-covered garden, I was struck by the sense of peace and how this season is about ease and comfort, not forcing growth. This is a time for lovingly tending what is softly unfolding. As the quiet unseen growth takes root, we prepare, we nurture the soil, and we trust.

We can approach our own growth with this same gentleness and patience— honouring ourselves and the work we’ve put into our becoming, by nurturing our heart and spirit.

This season whispers that change has begun, even though it is still unseen. As we rest in this liminal time of Imbolc and prepare to walk through the threshold of Spring, my invitation is to consider:

• What quiet shifts can you sense stirring within you?

• What tools do you already have that help you reconnect with joy, inspiration, and your spark of hope? How can you now lean into these practices?

• What are the seeds, both physical and metaphorical, that are asking to be planted for the season ahead?

The timing of this unusual snowstorm reminded me that even in the depths of winter, new life is stirring beneath the surface. And so it is within me, and all of us.

May we be gentle with ourselves and trust the timing of our own unfolding. May we tenderly hold the light of hope. May we emerge from our Winter rest and step forward with the quiet knowing that the promise of Spring, within and without, is already on its way.

*Essential oils for treating anxiety: a systematic review of randomized controlled trials and network meta-analysis

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For us here in the Northern hemisphere, today marks the longest night and shortest day. This is a time of completion as well as a beginning as we turn from darkness to new light. The inky darkness signals the beginning of Winter—the season of rest and reflection.

The darkness has been vilified though, hasn't it? We have been led to believe that darkness is something to fear. What if instead we saw this season as an exploration of the gifts of depth and possibility?

What is it about darkness that we fear? The unknown? The lack of control? Not seeing what is there with us— or maybe not wanting to see what’s there with us? It’s a natural thing to fear.

While we may have a sense of fear around darkness, I think we as women intuitively know that there are seasons of our life where the darkness calls and when we must immerse ourselves in the void, resting in the unknown and honouring our state of being. This is a season that our soul knows, and even welcomes.

This darkness is the expression of the Divine Feminine aspects of Nature and our psyche. Darkness is the birthplace of life. It’s the place where the seed lies dormant waiting for its time. This is the season where we descend into Yin with its emotional maturity, intuitive knowing, and embodiment. This is a time to nestle into the void and the fertile plains of its disordered possibilities—to rest; to gather resources; and to wait.

As we greet Winter, may you find gifts in the darkness.
May you find the comfort and wisdom of your Self;
and may you find hope in the return of the light.

If you feel drawn to self-reflection and journalling, or feel called to create a personal ritual to honour yourself in this season, you may find this e-booklet of interest.
It’s a free download filled with Winter associations and journaling prompts designed to support connecting with the natural energies of Winter and in doing so, connecting with deeper levels of yourself. Now is an ideal time to create a personal ritual to take stock of your intentions and priorities for the season ahead; which can help you feel more centred, peaceful, and ready to explore Winter’s magic.
Click on the link to get to the Shoppe where you can add it to you cart and checkout for free. You’ll then get the download link. Winter in the Soul Garden® e-booklet

Winter in the Soul Garden® e-booklet

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